


in the shadow of the mountain

by tinypersonhotel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, big gay camping trip.docx, lots of nature, one-sided past ikedai??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5858203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypersonhotel/pseuds/tinypersonhotel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After graduation, Daichi and Suga climb a mountain to see whether it will make them the grown-ups they’re supposed to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the shadow of the mountain

Daichi is convinced there’s something special about Tohoku in the early spring. Maybe it’s the sweep of green across the long-brown landscape, or the smell of freshly tilled dirt in the fields, thawed after months of frost. Maybe it’s the valley fog that clings to the last, lingering mornings of winter cold or the mountains poking up like teeth all around Karasuno, which sits as small and muggy as it would in the mouth of a dragon.

Suga does not like spring. He tells Daichi so every year, on their walks to school, as he yawns into the fuzzy blue scarf he’s worn since Daichi’s known him. Daichi points out that he only hates it  because he’s always cold, and if he bothered wearing a hat and gloves in the morning, surely he would change his mind.

But Suga claims he doesn’t mind being cold: He minds everyone pretending it’s spring when the weather says it’s still winter.

Daichi stands with Suga and Asahi on one of these not-quite-freezing mornings, just days after their graduation, shifting the weight of his backpack from one shoulder to another as Asahi leans against the pillar at Karasuno’s entrance. Asahi’s hands are shoved in his pockets, shoulders curled forward.

 “Asahi, you _promised_ you would come,” Suga whines.

“I know, I know!” Asahi says. He’s wearing the sweatshirt Suga bought him from Nanzan U as congratulations for his recruitment. “I start school a week earlier than you guys, I can’t swing a whole weekend. Plus Saeko-san offered me a ride down to Nagoya.”

Suga’s wearing his school sweatshirt, too, gifted to him by Daichi—MEIJI, in big Latin letters. The cuffs are bunched around his fingers even as he waves his arms disapprovingly at Asahi. His teeth chatter in the blue morning chill.

Daichi’s wearing his school sweatshirt, too: _Rikkyo_ in white kanji, deep purple background. The three of them planned it out like that; Asahi bought Daichi his sweatshirt, Daichi bought Suga’s, Suga bought Asahi’s. Their going-away gifts to each other. Homesickness settles small and solid in Daichi’s stomach, like a peach pit.

He pushes it down. Homesickness won’t be a problem much longer. On the other side of their trip, Tokyo’s waiting. He won’t even be able to see the mountains from his apartment sandwiched between silver skyscrapers.

Daichi _hmph_ s at Asahi’s excuse. “You sure you’re not just scared of mountain lions?”

“I’m _not_ ,” Asahi says. “Well, I am, but not enough I’d bail on you guys. You’re my best friends.”

“Mushy,” Suga complains.

Daichi touches his shoulder. “Let’s go, Suga. No point missing the train on account of this traitor.”

Asahi chokes. “Traitor?”

“Who, this guy?” Suga says. “Never even seen him before.”

“Me neither.”

It’s hard to keep a straight face when Asahi looks so genuinely discouraged, but it’s a point of pride between him and Suga that neither of them break when they’re giving Asahi a hard time. As they start in the direction of the station, Asahi calls after them, says how much he’s gonna miss them, that maybe he can call Saeko and just take the train down to Nagoya instead—

“Don’t bother now,” Suga shouts over his shoulder. “Even if you come along, you’ve been downgraded from best friend to pack mule.”

Asahi makes a tortured sound.

The homesickness climbs. Daichi can’t help but yell back, “See you during Golden Week.”

Suga whacks his arm. “You’re worse than he is.”

 

 

 

They ride the JR Fruits Line all the way to Aterazawa and barely catch the 59, which makes its route to the base of the mountain only once a day. The bus empties out at a shopping center after three stops, but it’s packed when he and Suga get on, and they have to sit with their knees folded up and their oversized knapsacks squished between the seats on the floor. The damp morning has been mostly evaporated by the sun, although Suga’s fingers are still disconcertingly purple. Daichi remembers when they went to Nationals in January, the sunrise hours before the game, on the balcony—

It does feel different, lately, being around Suga. He’s always accused Daichi of being a stick in the mud, of stoicism, of insufferable masculine romanticism when it comes to things like the Great Outdoors and the bonds of friendship. And sure, there have been plenty of times Daichi’s fretted he might be too boring to be best friends with Suga, who is weird-humored, pushy, and critical of the clichés in Daichi has been known to litter throughout history papers. Suga has a great imagination, and Daichi has—well, none, he guesses; he can’t follow Suga’s logical leaps at all, and it’s fun for _Daichi_ , sure, but there are still times when he worries he might bore Suga to death with his love of things like nutrition and war documentaries.

But lately Suga is sort of quiet. He doesn’t always prod Daichi into conversation, doesn’t drag him from one bizarre imaginary situation to the next. When they walk home from school or grab food after a movie, they’re silent. Daichi takes pride in this development in their friendship, although he’s sure if he pointed out how good they’ve gotten at nonverbal communication, Suga would jump right back to accusing him of mushy, macho nonsense.

Suga wrestles a plastic bag from his crushed backpack and passes it to Daichi. “Lunch,” he says. Daichi peeks inside: salad-flavored potato sticks and _shio musubi_.

“Wholesome.”

“I packed a couple of bananas if you’re actually worried, but you’re not going to die of eating snack food.”

“Maybe.” Daichi pokes at Suga’s bicep. Sure, setters don’t have much use for muscle, and Suga says he still hasn’t decided whether he’ll join the volleyball club at Meiji, but…

“What?” Suga asks.

“Nothing.”

“ _Daichi_.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Suga flicks at his temple, trying to hide his grin. Daichi grabs at the offending hand and misses.

“Hey, Suga?”

Suga twists around in his seat to face him, trying to look mad. Failing.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about Tohoku?”

Suga shrugs. “I told Kageyama.”

“Why didn’t you tell _me_? Or Asahi, for that matter.”

“Because I wasn’t planning on going,” he says.

“To Tohoku _?_ It’s top five!”

“Yeah, if you’re doing molecular _bio_.” Suga scrunches up his face. “Besides, a month ago you were happy I was coming to Tokyo with you.”

“I am happy,” he says.

“Then there’s nothing to discuss,” Suga says. And he means it, arms folded tight in his windbreaker and head thunked against the window. Daichi suppresses a groan, because this is the other thing that’s changed between them:

Suga seems to get mad at him more and more lately, not that he ever says anything about it. Not that either of them do.

The bus blurs across meadows and winds around low mountains as the sun arcs overhead. They keep going until they’re the only ones left on the bus and the music on the radio has turned to static. Daichi makes the decision not to worry about Suga’s moods, because it would be conceited to think they have anything to do with him. There is plenty of stuff that could be making Suga irritable, even things that are also exciting, like moving and leaving behind family and being a first-year all over again.

Whatever’s bothering Suga will clear up as soon as they settle into their lives in Tokyo. And Daichi will be there when he’s feeling like himself again, because they’re best friends, and that’s his job.

 

 

 

Graduation was, unsurprisingly, a mess. When Daichi woke up on the last-ever day of his secondary education, wooly clouds were dumping sleet across the hills of Karasuno, and as he crouched under his umbrella on the road to school, the slush waterlogged his sneakers.

Daichi decided he had time for a detour before the diploma ceremony. Fortunately, he hadn’t been asked to return his keys to the clubroom to the main office yet; though practice had ended a week prior, Takeda-sensei was busy preparing his Modern Lit exams for the underclassmen. Daichi fished out extra socks from his sports locker and sighed at the warm, dry cotton on his icy feet.

“Playing hooky?” A voice from behind.

“Don’t try to scare me, Suga. It never works.”

“It sometimes works,” Suga said as he fiddled with combination on his own locker. “You’re not the only one who got caught in the rain. I didn’t run into you and Asahi this morning.”

Daichi frowned. He hadn’t seen Asahi, either. So they all missed their last chance to walk to school together.

Suga mirrored Daichi’s worried expression. “Gee, captain. Don’t mind.”

Daichi forced his shoulders to relax. “Yeah, yeah. That’s Ennoshita’s job now.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still do captain stuff. You don’t need to be on a court to give heartfelt speeches and force people to do cooldown stretches.”

“Oh, I’m sure Rikkyo’s gonna love that.”

“You’ll be very popular. A total turnaround from your high school days.”

“Hey.”

After schools songs were sung and diplomas distributed, the volleyball team crowded around its third years, a mess of tears and oversized Hallmark cards and promises to work hard. He, Suga, and Asahi granted the second buttons from their uniforms to Ennoshita as per tradition; Daichi had received their upperclassmen’s buttons when he was conferred the captainship a year before. _Volleyball will be your girlfriend_ , they had told him, although Daichi hadn’t really gotten the joke.

“We’ll come back for practice during breaks,” Suga promised.

“You hear that? No slacking off.” Noya elbowed Tsukishima, who glared. “Where are you guys headed for school, anyway?”

“Nagoya,” said Asahi.

“Tokyo,” said he and Suga.

“Tokyo?” Hinata gasped. “You mean Todai?!”

Tsukishima clicked his tongue in disgust. “You just said that because it’s the only school you could think of off the top of your head. Nobody _actually_ gets into Todai.”

“Not with that attitude,” Tanaka said.

“Or those brains,” Tsukishima replied.

Kageyama tilted his head. “Sugawara-san got into Tohoku, though? Isn’t that almost as hard?”

“Shush, you,” Suga hissed, clamping a hand over Kageyama’s mouth. Daichi couldn’t help but laugh. Surely Suga had assumed confidence when he confessed that to Kageyama, who rarely engaged in conversations unless they were related to volleyball.

“It _is_ hard to get in,” Tsukishima said.

Hinata bounced on his heels. “Suga-san, that’s amazing! Are you going to set for Tohoku?”

Suga looked a little touched, though still thoroughly dismayed. He was red all the way up to his ears, and Daichi—setting aside his confusion as to why Suga didn’t _tell him_ he got into freaking _Tohoku_ —considered taking a picture to embarrass him with later.

Suga pressed his palms to his face. “No one recruited me to play _volleyball_ —I just took the entrance exam! Besides, I’m not going.”

“You’re not?” Yamaguchi asked.

“Nope. I accepted an offer from a school in Tokyo— _not_ Todai,” he added quickly, before Hinata could get excited again.

“Why is that?” Yamaguchi asked, though he looked a bit reluctant to push the subject.

Suga shrugged. “Sendai’s still Miyagi. I should try to get out of here for at least a couple years, shouldn’t I?”

“I guess.”

Daichi frowned. He never really had the desire to escape his hometown the way many of their classmates did—he didn’t think of Karasuno or Miyagi as things that required escape. He had kind of thought Suga felt the same way.

More pressingly, Suga was avoiding Daichi’s line of sight. He was probably worried that Daichi was mad he didn’t tell him about Tohoku. But Daichi wasn’t, honestly, so he leaned an elbow on Suga’s shoulder and changed the subject. “Anyway, us third years are going on a trip before school starts. We’re going to climb a mountain, camp out overnight, watch the sunrise…”

“Gonna check out that virgin scenery,” Tanaka added.

“Tanaka, don’t be lewd,” Ennoshita said.

“I wasn’t! Climbing a mountain is really manly.”

Noya slapped Asahi on the back. “I bet you’re one of those guys who read _Call of the Wild_ in middle school and never really got over it, aren’t you?”

“That’s absolutely true,” Suga said, catching Daichi’s eye.

Daichi grinned back. “It is.”

“ _Guys_ ,” Asahi protested.

 

 

 

There’s only one other customer in the general store at the foot of the mountain, which is stationed alongside an empty parking lot. The clouds hanging on the horizon have mostly unraveled. Daichi wonders if they should buy sunscreen.

“Sure,” Suga says, plucking a map of the mountain from a metal rack. “You go get us stuff. I’ll ask the clerk about the route.”

“You familiar with Mt. Asahi?” the shopkeeper asks Suga.

“No,” Suga replies.

The shopkeeper hums. “Well, you can do it in two days, definitely, but it’s easy to get lost if you’re not experienced. Let me mark it on your map, okay?”

“Thank you,” Suga says, and unfolds the pamphlet. The shopkeeper traces a red marker over the mountains. Daichi watches Suga’s eyes follow the marker through a rack of assorted trail mix. He feels kind of guilty, watching Suga when Suga isn’t watching him back, trying to puzzle out why Suga is so reticent lately when they’re not around Asahi or the team. He isn’t sure what scares him more, that something might have happened to Suga, or that Suga just grew up without him.

Daichi notices the other shopper giving him a weird look. He straightens up, grabs the first bag of trail mix he sees, and awkwardly makes his way to the counter.

“It’s a little before the season really starts up, so you guys probably won’t run into that many hikers.” The shopkeeper punches the register; it _dings_. “Unless that’s what you wanted.”

Daichi laughs too loud at this.

“Make sure you stick to the path I marked,” he continues as he rings up four days’ worth of energy bars and water purification tablets, enough to be safe. “It’s technically still pre-season, so there might be a lot of snow when you get up higher. Plus the weather report says heavy rain in a couple of days, so the longer routes are out of the question. You boys didn’t bring a tent?”

“No,” Daichi says. “We didn’t think there’d be any bad weather this weekend.”

“Stay at the mountain hut, then. You can find all the information in there.” The shopkeeper taps the map with his index finger.

“Thanks.”

He and Suga trail across the empty lot outside. It’s flat and expansive and feels strangely like a desert among all the mountains, which press in close around them.

“Do you think Asahi will really come home for Golden Week?” Daichi wonders.

“Asahi got homesick during _training camp_ first year. He’ll definitely come home.” Suga cups his hands around his eyes like binoculars and surveys the horizon. He spots the trail entrance on the far end and tugs on Daichi’s sleeve. “Come on.”

It still seems a little cruel and unusual to Daichi and that he and his two best friends should all be removed from Miyagi. Most kids their age don’t live in dorms, just suck it up and spend an hour’s commute on the train. Though Daichi isn’t living in a dorm, technically; he found an apartment with some guys who were also recruited for the volleyball team, so that they wouldn’t have to worry about being loud before morning practice. Suga, on the other hand, did register to live in a dorm—not athletes’ quarters, like Asahi, but one mixed with international students. It surprised Daichi a little. Suga’s English isn’t bad for someone who only took high school classes, and he’s good at meeting new people, but Daichi can’t say whether he actually likes it.

Daichi sighs. “It’s too bad Asahi couldn’t come. It’s his namesake mountain.”

“Every tenth guy in our grade is named ‘Asahi’.”

“Fair.” Daichi pulls another rice ball from his bag and unwraps it, his fingers sticking to the plastic. “Anyway, I’m glad at least the two of us get to do this. It’s silly, but …”

“Go on. I won’t laugh.”

“You absolutely will.”

Suga smiles gently. “Doesn’t mean I don’t take you seriously.”

“Fine. I think it’s good we can go on a trip like this before we move somewhere like Tokyo. It’s different there. The culture and everything. You know, in contemporary Japan—”

“I change my mind,” Suga says. He grabs Daichi’s _shio musubi_ and shoves it in his mouth. “I’m not taking you seriously.”

“Hey, no fair,” Daichi mumbles around the rice, although it comes out more like _mmmfrghh._

“We’re going to hike up the mountain and enjoy our last few days in Miyagi. We’re not going to come of age.”

Daichi swallows the rice and smiles his best captain-smile. “You never know.”

They start on the trail toward Kodera-yama. The path slopes steep from the start, unshaded by trees, and the early afternoon sun beats harsh against Daichi’s dark sweatshirt. He knots it around his waist and prays he dressed alright for an entire weekend.

Eventually the ground evens out, and the second hour is less draining than the first. He and Suga don’t talk much—they’re conserving their energy, probably, but Daichi feels that misplaced pride again, that he and Suga are so close that they can enjoy the silent beauty of nature together without speaking.

A terrible thought occurs to Daichi—wordless, so a ‘terrible feeling’, really, and he just has to ask—“Suga, what are you thinking about?”

“Hmm. I’m trying to remember whether there was a TV show about an octopus with a shoe store when we were kids, or if just dreamed it.”

Daichi grins. “You definitely dreamed it.”

He’s relieved, although he’s not sure what made him anxious in the first place, because it’s the most _Suga_ thing Suga’s said all day, his train of thought light-years away from any place Daichi could have possibly guessed. “Are you having a good time?”

“I am,” Suga says. “It’s nice. Although I’m looking forward to that mountain hut later. The map says they have the best soba in Japan. The woman who runs it gathers her own mushrooms.”

“Suga, please don’t die.”

“Of what?”

“Mushrooms.”

“This morning you were bothering me to eat _more_ vegetables.”

“Yeah, but I meant safe vegetables. Like carrots. Or _hakusai_. You know, from a grocery store.”

“Well, I’m not going to worry about it,” Suga says, bounding ahead a few steps to get a better view of a bend in the road up ahead. “You do enough of that for the whole team. Have fun with your fictional _hakusai_.”

Daichi starts after him. “I _will_ have fun, I always have—”

The conversation drops away, suddenly. Beyond the bend, the path curves around a dip in the landscape, and the view is breathtaking, with winding brooks that converge in the center and puddles of melted snow that mirror the sky back at them.

Daichi inhales deeply, considers the brisk air in his lungs. So maybe he and Suga aren’t on the same page, but at least they’re both on pages they _like_.

“Look.” He gestures toward a sign at a fork up ahead. “Hananukimine.”

“The store clerk said not to take that one,” Suga says. “I mean, I think he did.” He unfolds the map and holds one end toward Daichi, who takes it. Suga squints as he studies it, hair falling in his face. He blows at his damp bangs, but they don’t move out of the way. Daichi blows on Suga’s bangs, too, and they stick to his forehead even worse.

“Hey.”

“I’m just helping.”

Suga jabs at his neck. “Yeah, sure, you’re being very helpful. Now help me figure out this guy’s handwriting.”

They decide to stay on the trail and stick to the path along a dried-up river, toward a more thickly forested part of the mountain. The protection from the sun is a relief, even with the light fading fast. Eventually the sweat cools on Daichi’s skin, leaving him with a sticky, unpleasant chill. He wishes he had worn one of those absorbent athletic shirts. The sweat ringed around his collar is making him self-conscious. Which is silly, given that Suga sees him much sweatier every day at practice.

“Daichi, let’s hurry,” Suga says, snapping him out of his thoughts. “We’re gonna miss the sunset.”

Daichi nods and wishes privately that he had brought deodorant, despite warnings from camping websites that it would attract wild animals.

Finally, a break comes in the trees. He and Suga are faced with a sun-flooded valley fifteen-hundred meters below, jagged peaks all along the horizon. They stand staring out until the sun vanishes and the valley is extinguished all at once.

“Wow,” Daichi breathes. “And this isn’t even the summit.”

“We could turn around now. If you’re feeling like a grown-up yet.”

“No way. Let’s find that hut. I can’t let you eat poisonous mushrooms by yourself.”

The mountain hut is small and dark and Daichi would worry no one was there if smoke weren’t puffing from the narrow chimney pipe. The woman inside is small and wrinkled like paper that’s been crumpled up and smoothed out again. But she’s full of energy and seems excited to have guests to prepare soba for.

“You’re practically the first hikers of the season. You two get the freshest mushrooms of the year.”

“I’m allergic, unfortunately,” Daichi says, furtively touching a hand to Suga’s back. Suga wiggles away and proudly informs the old woman that he is _not_ allergic, and that he’ll gladly take Daichi’s portion of mushrooms for himself. The old woman disappears into the kitchen, and they crouch around a low table by the fire.

“Jeez, I’m going to be pretty sore,” Daichi says under his breath.

“From what?”

“From carrying your body down the mountain all by myself,” Daichi says. “After you die from eating poisonous fungus.”

Suga turns up his nose. “If I die, leave my body out here. I’ll decompose and become one with nature.”

“Gruesome.”

“But poetic. Besides,” Suga says, gesturing to a bookshelf mounted on the wall, “she’s read up on foraging.” He stands and thumbs through the titles, sounding through one in English. “ _Living the Good Life._ It says it’s about living _sanely_ and _simply_ in a troubled world. This one looks right up your alley, Daichi.”

Daichi folds his arms. “Just because I don’t intend to be a part of Tohoku’s _mass exodus_ —”

“ _Please,_ Daichi,” Suga laughs. “Enough about _modern Japan_ —”

“So, are you boys twenty?” the woman interrupts, trotting back into the room with a steaming ceramic jug.

“Not yet.”

The old woman shrugs, setting the jug on the table and wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, I won’t say anything. But no wandering off the side of a cliff if you’re lightweights. I’ll be back with your soba soon.”

They thank her. Daichi eyes the sake and wonders if Suga will drink any. If Suga does, then he won’t feel bad about joining in. Daichi’s always needed him for things like that. But instead of pouring it, Suga just wraps his fingers around the bottle and sighs at the warmth.

“Hey,” Daichi says. “Don’t steal all the heat.”

“I’m the genius who thought of it first.”

“Great minds.”

“Sore loser.”

“Fine, I’ll steal it back from you,” Daichi says. He cups his hands over Suga’s. Suga flinches.

“What?”

“Your hands are cold.” Suga pulls away and pushes the jug toward Daichi. “You win.”

“You know, it’s no fun if you give up just like that.”

“Maybe I don’t want to play.”

Daichi feels like he’s said the wrong thing again, and they wait for their food in silence he has a hard time convincing himself is _comfortable_.

But the soba is, in fact, the best Daichi’s ever had, and as they bury their noses in the steam, the ruddiness of the day’s hike clears from their faces. They pay for the food, plus the fee for the overnight stay, and roll out their sleeping bags by the fire. The old woman leaves them the sake with a wink as she retreats to the private back room of the hut. Within minutes, they can hear her snoring. They try not to laugh behind their hands.

Suga pours a small cup for himself and another for Daichi. Daichi gives him a reproachful look, despite wishing earlier that Suga would be the one to initiate the drinking.

“Coming of age,” Suga explains.

“A very convincing argument.” Daichi accepts one of the cups and clinks it with Suga’s. “ _Kanpai._ ”

The sake is warmer on his insides than it is on his hands through the jug. He and Suga talk about the time during training camp Ukai showed up to morning warm-ups with sunglasses and an ice pack pressed to his head.

“Takeda-sensei’s a tank, according to Tanaka’s sister,” Daichi says.

“Hmm. Makes sense. The only time we saw Takeda-sensei hungover was a day Coach didn’t show up at all. He probably couldn’t even get out of bed.”

“Some party, must have been.”

“Maybe not. One day we’re gonna be old like that, Daichi. We’d better build up a tolerance for liquor now.”

“You, old? Never.” Daichi has an idea. “Come on.”

He stands, tugging Suga clumsily to his feet by his sleeve. Now that he’s upright, he kind of regrets it—his head is fuzzier when he has to pilot the rest of his body, which feels two sizes too large for him. He moves as cautiously as his feet will allow.

Suga follows him outside the cabin. They settle next to each other on a fallen log, chopped down the middle to serve as a makeshift bench. Daichi points up. “Stars,” he says.

“I see that, Daichi.” Suga’s face is as pink and his eyes as shiny as Daichi knows his own must be.

“There are a lot of them.”

“There are lots in Karasuno.”

“Not like _this_ ,” Daichi says, gesturing dramatically at the sky. “Not the whole celestial _dome_.”

“You’re funny drunk, Daichi. We’ll have to go barhopping in Tokyo.”

“Yeah, two years from now.”

“A little late to take a stance against underage drinking.”

“Even if we can’t go out to bars, we’re still gonna hang out all the time. Once we’re in Tokyo.”

Suga curls up his legs and drops his head on his knees. “Is that right?”

“I mean it,” Daichi says, shifting around so he’s looking Suga in the eye again. “It’s only 20 minutes on the Marunouchi line. I don’t want you to worry about us drifting apart.”

Suga smiles. It hurts, for some reason. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Daichi’s brain swims. His eyes blur and adjust and blur again. He focuses on Suga’s hands. He remembers Nationals. “I wish you never worried.”

“That’s a stupid thing to wish.” Still smiling.

Daichi isn’t sure what to say about that—so he smiles back, and slides closer to Suga on the bench. Suga laughs when Daichi knocks his knees against his hip. As heavy as Daichi’s head feels, the buzz is pleasant, and it’s easier to talk when they’re this unguarded.

They look up and point out the constellations they know, and when they run out of those they make new ones up. For all that it’s humid, the air is unpleasantly brisk again, now that the sun has been down for a few hours. Now there’s something he won’t miss about life in the mountains—the fluctuation between hot and cold. Somehow the stubborn Tokyo heat might just be more tolerable.

Eventually they go back inside. They sleep with their backs to the fire.

 

 

 

They slip out into the misty blue morning, careful not to disturb the old woman snoring in the back room. Even the clomping of their boots and the hundreds of screaming birds don’t seem to take up any space in the wide mountain air, and Daichi feels a little knot of homesickness, again, for Miyagi.

Suga scrunches up his nose at Daichi’s wistful expression. “You haven’t even left yet.”

“Soon, though.”

“Home’s not just about being in a place, you know.”

“It’s a lot about a place, though.”

Suga ignores him for a moment, inhales the new morning and spins around slowly, soaking in the beauty of the mountain’s southern face. When he faces back to Daichi, he’s smiling again, half sleepy, half sunny, and Daichi thinks the air is much too thin at this altitude.

“There will still be the foods we like and the music we grew up with, even when we’re in Tokyo. It’ll be okay, even if it’s hard at first.”

“I know,” Daichi says.

“It’s better hearing it from someone else, though, isn’t it?”

“It’s better coming from you.”

Suga waves him off.

They trudge their way up the path to the right, which is a harsh and thickly wooded slope. Parts of the trail can’t even be hiked; they have to climb, pulling themselves up by rocks and knotted roots. Daichi’s feeling a little dehydrated from the sake. Coming of age or not, maybe he shouldn’t have had his first drink barely halfway through a pre-season trek to one of the most inaccessible peaks in Japan.

The dirt gives way beneath their feet every once in a while. Daichi moves cautiously behind Suga, wondering if he should have gone first. He knows Suga can handle himself, but he can’t quite put the worry out of his mind that he might slip and get hurt. Suga calls him on this attitude, sometimes. There’s something arrogant about looking out for everyone but yourself. But he doesn’t bring it up often, since Suga, too, is constantly telling people to watch their step, sleep eight hours, take care of themselves.

Something about Suga’s caution is less condescending than Daichi’s. It’s what made him such a good vice-captain.

Well—screw it, Daichi can’t help his concern. As Suga hoists himself up the path, Daichi’s arms float up reflexively, prepared to steady him if needed.

“Daichi, I can _hear_ you worrying behind me,” Suga complains as he gropes at the knotted roots. The skin between his collar and the hair curled at the nape of his neck is damp with sweat. “There’s no need to be so—shit!”

The root comes unanchored from the ground, and Suga flails for a moment before toppling backward. Daichi catches him clumsily, his fingers digging into Suga’s sides, prompting a yelp as he crashes into Daichi. Suga’s head hits his nose, but Daichi digs in his heels and manages to prevent them from tumbling any further down the steep face.

“There’s no need to be so _what_?” Daichi asks, once he’s caught his breath.

“That hurt.”

“You’re welcome.”

Suga’s head is turned. “You can let go of me now.”

Daichi releases him and rubs at his stinging nose.

“Suga, are you—”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say. Are you—”

“I’m not.”

“—mad at me?”

Suga freezes. It feels as bad as Daichi expected—confronting his best friend, with whom he’s never had a serious argument—but there’s no point in turning back halfway.

“I just feel like you are, lately.”

Suga sighs. “I don’t mean to be.”

“What’s wrong?”

Suga shrugs. Daichi’s pretty sure it doesn’t mean _I don’t know_ so much as it means _It’s too much to explain_. Or _I’m scared to talk about it._ Which hurts, because Daichi hadn’t thought there were things Suga felt he couldn’t discuss with him—but Daichi’s feelings were _already_ kind of hurt, and he’s worried something may have happened to Suga.

It scares him.

“Hey,” Daichi says softly, wrapping his fingers around Suga’s bicep. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Suga’s eyes flicker down to the hand on his arm for a moment, then back up at Daichi. He smiles. It hurts again, worse than the night before. “I am talking to you, Daichi.”

“You know whatever it is, even if I don’t _get it_ …I’m not going to judge you.” Suga doesn’t say anything, but he keeps smiling. It unsettles Daichi’s nerves even more. “But if you really don’t think you need to talk about it, then I trust your judgment.”

“We have to hurry,” is all Suga says, as he shrugs away Daichi’s grip. “We’re going to miss the sunrise.”

They keep hiking. Daichi feels awful for about five more minutes, and wonders whether he should have kept his mouth shut. Why would he pick a fight right before they start at separate schools? The Marunouchi line is a huge pain, it would be easy for them to make excuses. Tokyo’s full of them.

But Suga’s apparent unhappiness drops away quickly; the path is challenging, and fun, and they’re need to rush if they want to get to their destination in time. They’re both breathing hard by the time they reach the ledge, but they beat the sun by a few minutes. Suga smiles at him the same way he did when they took the first round at Nationals, and Daichi’s chest feels full once more.

The sun isn’t there, and then it is, not a soft change of the light, but the flicking of a switch. It burns red over the horizon, too far for bluer wavelengths to reach, and Daichi thinks some embarrassing thoughts about nature and Miyagi and friendship as he tries to impress the view into his memory: No utility poles, no concrete, just a wide gulf with hundreds of peaks glowing pink-orange in the light.

Daichi remembers a lot lately. Maybe that’s natural, when everything’s about to change. When he’s going to have to start working to hold onto things that used to be natural, when he moves to Tokyo and has to sort out the old and the new.

Daichi remembers Nationals.

 

 

 

 

 

 

If Karasuno was always destined only to see the national stage once during Daichi’s tenure as a member of its volleyball team, he was glad it was his third year.

Things felt _right_ third year. Even before their team was all together—not just Asahi and Noya, but the first years, too—well, even if there was no one else to be his vice, Daichi would have wanted it to be Suga anyway. Sure, he could have made Ennoshita vice-captain, to prepare him for his own likely captaincy, but he was glad Suga took the position, because Suga was his best friend.

It made sense, the way lots of things made sense to Daichi—the way things like the beach made sense.

“Daichi, are you feverish?” That’s what Suga said to him when Daichi said, out of the blue, that their captaincy made sense like the beach. It wasn’t like him to speak in such non-literal terms, sure, but it amused him that Suga, who was always saying weird stuff, could be shaken by something so relatively mundane.

“I mean that it’s a good thing,” Daichi explained, ears burning. “Us being co-captains is a completely good thing. There are no downsides.”

“Sharks,” Suga offered. “Sand in your shoes.”

“Popsicles,” Daichi countered.

“Tsunamis.”

Daichi folded his arms. “I’ll leave the nonsensical stuff to you, then.”

“I always make perfect sense!”

“You do, but only in a roundabout way.”

When Karasuno toppled Shiratorizawa, this time the school didn’t hesitate to let Takeda-sensei borrow the athletics bus. They even organized a proper cheer group and held a bake sale to help cut travel costs. Lots of people congratulated Daichi for leading the team to Tokyo, but it felt funny accepting the praise when he was only one person on the team.

Nationals happened over a weekend in January, and the team was set up in a Dormy Inn in the Akasaka district. They had to pair off for rooms, which caused a huge fuss—Kageyama and Hinata were furious at the implication they should naturally room together; Kinoshita and Narita kindly split up and agreed to share with each of them respectively.

The room wasn’t much bigger than the bed, but there was a narrow veranda perched alongside the broad window, and big, fluffy towels piled high in the closet. Daichi grinned at a complimentary fan on the desk, with a green birdlike mascot printed on the front.

“Is it stupid if this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me?” Daichi asked, spinning the fan by its handle.

Suga shook his head. “It’s Tokyo. Of course it’s exciting. Come on, let’s grab dinner.”

After finding a place that could squeeze the whole team—Asahi had the explain to the waitress he wasn’t twenty when she poured him a cup of sake; meanwhile Takeda-sensei had his license scrutinized—they returned to their room, ears red from the January cold and overfull from the food. Suga flopped face-down across the bed, occupying as much space as he possibly could. He refused to move, even when Daichi prodded the ticklish spot on his side.

“Fine then. I can use up all the hot water. _Or_ you could take first shower, if you beat me to it.”

Suga peered up at this, one eye visible between the silver curtain of his bangs. “You don’t mind?”

“Go ahead.” Daichi collapsed on the bed next to Suga with an _oomph_. Suga flicked his forehead.

“Thanks, Captain.”

Daichi smiled and flopped his head back on his arms. He felt warm, even though the night outside was subzero, and he hadn’t had any tea with his dinner. He closed his eyes and listened to the water beating against the wall between the shower and the bedroom—and the next thing Daichi knew, he had shifted over a couple feet toward the wall, a blanket haphazardly strewn over his legs, pre-dawn light filtering through the curtains.

Suga wasn’t next to him. He glanced at the clock: half past six, neon numbers floating fuzzy in his vision. He rubbed his eyes and tried to call out to Suga, but his voice got stuck in his throat.

There was a distinct chill in the room, and the curtains obscuring the picture window shifted gently in the wind. Daichi stepped into a pair of complimentary slippers and pushed aside the curtain to peer out at the veranda.

Suga stood on it, arms folded over the high wall, face in the dewy morning air, letting molecules of mist settle on his skin. Daichi slid open the door a little wider and stepped out.

“Suga, come back to bed.”

Suga dropped his head on the railing, looking over at Daichi, a little smug. Daichi felt color rise in his face, though he was sure Suga knew what he meant.

“You go back to bed, Daichi. You’re the one going to be playing today.”

“You’re gonna play, too,” Daichi said.

Suga laughed. “I know I will. That’s why I can’t sleep.”

“Then come back to bed!” Daichi pulled Suga’s arms from the railing, letting his right hand slide down past his elbow to tug Suga by the flat of his palm. “Wow. You’re cold.”

“I’m always cold.”

“ _Really_ cold,” Daichi said, and he didn’t let go of Suga’s hand, working it between his own, trying to restore circulation to his purpling fingers. “You shouldn’t let your hands get this way. They’re important.”

“Because I’m a setter.”

“Yeah,” Daichi said, and he could hear a huge comma at the end of his voice. Suga made a questioning noise; he could hear it too. But Daichi’s head was still woozy from sleep, and he wasn’t sure where the sentence was going, anyway.

“You didn’t wake me up to shower,” he said instead.

“It felt too cruel. You looked so peaceful, drooling on your pillow like that. Plus you weren’t barking orders, for once. It was refreshing.”

“Hey. I’m a nice captain.”

“You are.”

“You’re not going to argue with me?” Daichi asked. “You’re going soft, Sugawara.”

Suga didn’t say anything, just looked at his own hand still sandwiched between Daichi’s. Daichi squeezed before letting go. Suga’s fingers chased after his own, and Daichi let him win.

“Daichi?”

“Hm?”

“We might win today.”

“Yeah. I think we might.”

The sunshine in Tokyo was lazy, as lazy as the swoop of Suga’s bangs, and as soft as the center of his palms. That sunrise was different from the one Daichi watches now, on a high-up mountain face, though he’s sure Suga’s hands must be as cold today as they were back then.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun starts to climb. They move along a precarious edge in the direction of a flat, grassy section of the trail. It must cross paths with some more family-friendly routes, because it’s the first time they run into other people, parents with little kids crouched by an icy stream. They say hello to them as they refill their bottles. The water looks clean, but they add purification tablets anyway, and Suga grimaces at the taste.

He and Suga walk a few tens of meters ahead of the family, not wanting to get stuck behind anyone headed to the same destination, a rest area popular with day hikers for lunch.

“Daichi! Look! Look!” Suga jumps up and down. “ _Kamoshika!_ ”

“Where?”

“There!”

Daichi spots them—two goat-like serow, fur still dark from a sunless winter, hopping across a ring of craggy rocks. Behind them the other hikers exclaim in surprise, and the children imitate their bleated conversation. The kamoshika travel in the same direction as the trail, but they take their time, pausing to nibble at the grass.

Suga skips ahead, mimicking the kamoshikas’ gait, though he has to be exhausted—no offense to his skinny calves. The kids behind them giggle. Daichi jogs after him to keep up and tugs down hard on the back of his shirt every time he jumps.

“Quit stretching my shirt, Daichi. I’m becoming one with nature.”

“People are staring.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“No,” Daichi lies. Suga’s smile is sunny. And devious. He sprints ahead with bounding skips like the warm-ups they do in gym class. Daichi chases after him. His heart races like he’s playing volleyball, a competitive flutter in his chest and stomach. Suga catches up too close to the kamoshika, who scatter, bleating unhappily. He comes to a halt, panting with his hands on his knees. Daichi palms the back of his shirt when he catches up. When he presses down on the fabric, a sweaty print forms under his hand.

“ _Now_ I’m hungry,” Daichi says. “We could check the map, but…”

Suga nods. “It’d be faster if we just kept going.”

The sun passes overhead with noon. They hike along the rim of a valley spotted with snow. The mountains on the opposite side loom huge, but Daichi knows the one they’re hiking now is just as big. It’s satisfying to look at their work from afar.

Daichi gestures at the mountains. “We’re even higher up than we were this morning.”

Suga pauses to look. Daichi bumps into him, and Suga rests his elbow on Daichi’s shoulder, gulping in the thin air.

“We’ve come pretty far.”

They stand for a moment, until the family hiking behind them earlier begins to catch up. It would be no good to get stuck behind them, so they press on, moving across a path marked with loose gravel and frozen dirt.

Eventually their trail slopes gently into another valley, toward a large cabin with a few hikers and families eating from bowls around picnic tables out front. Suga groans as they make their way into the basin.

“I hate when the path goes back down. We’re just going to have to climb up again.” Daichi groans back, in agreement.

They wipe the sweat from their brows and stomp the dirt from their boots as best as they can before entering the cabin. Like the hut with the old woman, there’s only one person working the cabin this early in the year, and he looks bored out of his mind.

“What’s for lunch?” Suga asks the man.

“Ramen,” he says.

“Shouyu?” Suga asks. The man nods, and Suga slaps at Daichi’s gut with the back of his hand, grinning. “My favorite.”

“Is it spicy?” Daichi asks the man.

“Super spicy,” the man says.

“My favorite,” Daichi parrots, trading glances with Suga. Suga hits him again, a little too hard.

Lunch reenergizes both of them. The trail so far today has been harsh, thin-aired across uneven ground without as much profit in altitude as Daichi’s aching calves think they deserve. But they’re only a few hours from the peak of Asahi-yama, promised by a guidebook to be one of the most stunning view of northern Japan.

The man takes their bowls. “You two in college?” he asks.

“How’d you guess?” Suga asks, covering the logo on his Meiji sweatshirt with his hands.

“We just graduated from high school,” Daichi explains.

“So this is your last hurrah,” the man says. “Hope you’ve had a good time. Although it’s too bad you can’t make it to the top.”

“Oh, we’re on our way there now.”

“Haven’t you heard there’s a storm coming?”

“We thought that wasn’t going to hit until tonight.”

The man places their dishes in the industrial sink and raises his voice over the running water. “Winds moved faster than they guessed, then. The rain’s supposed to be here soon.”

Suga pouts. “That’s too bad.”

“It sure is,” Daichi agrees, hastily packing up his bag. “Anyway, we’d better get going. The food was delicious.”

Once they’re outside, Suga asks, “What are you in such a hurry for all of a sudden?”

Daichi doesn’t answer. Instead he grabs Suga’s arm and drags him behind the cabin, away from a lingering group of hikers packing up their stuff.

“Daichi!” Suga panics. “What are you doing?”

Daichi stops and turns to Suga. Suga takes a nervous step back, bumping into the wooden exterior of the cabin. He swallows.

“We’re climbing this mountain,” Daichi says solemnly. “No matter what the weather forecast says.”

Daichi’s hands shake when he declares this. He came here to climb a mountain with his best friend, and they’re going to do it, dammit. Suga has forced him to be brave lots of times, and he suddenly feels overwhelmed with gratitude toward him. Suga’s been weird and sad lately, and yeah, it hurts a little that Suga thinks he can’t discuss his problems with him, but if that’s the kind of friend Suga needs him to be right now—well, he knows it’s not the smart thing to do, but it will be good for Suga, he thinks, if they reach the mountain’s peak. He wants to see Suga look proud of himself again; he hasn’t looked that way very often, since he lost his spot as a regular.

“Daichi,” Suga says, scrunching his eyebrows together.

“Suga.”

“Do you mean it?”

Daichi nods seriously. Suga’s brow smooths out.

“Alright then, Captain.” He lifts his hand for a moment. It passes close by Daichi’s face, and he fights back an odd shiver. The hand settles on his shoulder and squeezes. “Let’s go.”

So they do, climbing back out the other side of the valley, toward the darkening midday sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After Interhigh, Daichi found himself hanging out with Ikejiri every so often. They would meet downtown for burgers or ice cream, occasionally hitting up the arcade, but more often than not they just sat on the steps of the public library and batted away the overly social pigeons.

That afternoon they were in a California-themed fast food place. When they ordered their fries and drinks, the cashier asked if they were paying together, and Daichi said, “Sure.” He motioned for Ikejiri to put his wallet away.

Ikejiri rolled his eyes and said, “Fine, then.”

“What?” Daichi asked. Ikejiri rolled his eyes again, more slowly. Then he laughed.

“What?” Daichi asked again, more emphatically, once they’d found a table. Ikejiri waved him off. Daichi glared. Ikejiri glared back, hard, until his face crumpled into laughter once more.

“Seriously, what _is_ it?”

“Nothing. It’s just, you know. Paying for someone else’s food.” Ikejiri gestured vaguely at Daichi, who was in the middle of handing him napkins, unprompted. “It’s very typical Daichi. But you know how you are.”

Daichi did not know.

“Oh my god,” Ikejiri said. “You really are oblivious.”

Daichi paged through a mental catalog of every comment he’d ever received on his appearance and personality, and he still came up with nothing.

Ikejiri waited for him to puzzle through it, sipping his milkshake thoughtfully. Daichi thought it was strange, the way Ikejiri could do things like eat and walk and cross the street all _thoughtfully_. Even though they were best friends in middle school, he never could really tell what Ikejiri was thinking, only that he thought a _lot_.

Back then he just enjoyed the easy quiet between them without really questioning it.

“I seriously don’t know,” Daichi said, at last.

“Do you really want the truth?”

Daichi nodded.

“Okay. Yikes, but okay.” Ikejiri paused. “You’re, you know. One of those straight guys who leads on his gay friends.” The words tumbled out in one breath.

Daichi choked. “Excuse me?”

Ikejiri took another sip of his shake, eyes crinkling with amusement. “What? You didn’t know that I was gay? Or you didn’t know that I used to have a crush on you, in particular?”

“No! I mean—yes. Yes to both. But—” Daichi gropes for the right words, any words, but comes up empty.

Him? Sawamura Daichi? An unwitting heartbreaker?

“Don’t feel _too_ bad,” Ikejiri said, trying not to seem _too_ amused by the existential crisis unfolding before him. “A lot of guys do it, even if they don’t mean to. You probably just unconsciously enjoy the attention or something.”

Daichi looked even more horrified at this, and slumped forward in the booth, burying his head in his arms. Ikejiri reached out to give him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“Oh, god. I don’t know what to say,” Daichi groaned.

“Sorry might be a good place to start.”

He peered up. “Sorry.”

“I was kidding,” Ikejiri added quickly, because Daichi was starting to look _actually_ depressed. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I weren’t light-years over it. Besides, I’m surprised no one has mentioned this to you before, Sawamura. I thought for sure that light-haired guy you were with at Interhigh would have broken it to you by now.”

Daichi’s eyes widened. “Suga?”

Ikejiri snapped his fingers. “Yeah. The pretty one, right? Although not really my type. I’ve always been more into the strong, silent guys.”

“Suga is everyone’s type,” Daichi snapped. Ikejiri laughed so hard he had to put down his shake.

“See? Like that,” he said. “Don’t do that. It’s very misleading.”

Daichi caught his reflection in the darkening restaurant window. He noticed the way his posture gravitated naturally toward Ikejiri, not be _cause_ it was Ikejiri, but because Daichi believed in giving people undivided attention, believed in  turning off his phone when he was spending time with a friend.

He was sure these things were only polite. But maybe he could see that they were also a little flirtatious, a little intentional—a way of making another person feel important and special. He straightened up in his seat self-consciously. He hoped this didn’t mean he had to learn to be rude.

On the train home Daichi went through a list of every guy he knew, just to make sure he hadn’t led anyone on. It had never occurred to him before, somehow—gayness—except in the abstract. Ikejiri’s frank confession was like a window flown open in his head.

Daichi scratched Asahi off the mental list almost instantly. He didn’t dismiss the possibility that Asahi could be gay, just that he could be into Daichi. Daichi was too hard on him.

Unless Asahi was into that. Oh god.

In terms of the second years, he didn’t think he needed to worry about leading on Nishinoya. Their personalities were too mismatched, and not in an opposites-attract way, either. Tanaka was—well, Tanaka; again, there was an irreconcilable personality clash. Ennoshita worried him a little, but they weren’t particularly close, so even if Daichi had led him on at any point, there was no way his feelings could be that strong. Same for Kinoshita and Narita.

And the first years—god, just thought of accidentally charming one of his underclassmen was almost too mortifying for him to bear, but he pressed on. Kageyama he definitely doesn’t need to worry about; there were only three times a day he thought about anything but volleyball, and they were breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Hinata loved everyone, but Daichi doubted he liked him in particular. If Tsukishima had a crush on a third-year it sure as hell wasn’t him. Yamaguchi had always reminded him a little of Ikejiri, so this was somewhat troublesome—what if his pats on the back had been too lingering? His quiet encouragement over the line?

_Getting a little conceited, are we, Daichi?_

The voice in his head was Suga’s. Suga, genial and inviting. Suga, making fun of him for worrying that every single one of his friends might be in love with him. And it brought Daichi’s runaway train of thought grinding to a halt.

There was a very good chance he’d been hitting on his best friend since the day they met.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rain hits only an hour later, when the path is thick with evergreens and the peak is nowhere in sight. Daichi prays when they reach the summit that the weather doesn’t ruin the view.

Worse, Suga has started to shiver. Daichi feels guilty that he asked Suga to place his trust in him, and only an hour later he seems to have caught a terrible cold. Daichi pictures Suga going to his first day of college classes, shuddering through sneezes and introducing himself from behind a flu mask.

“Daichi.” His nose is stuffy. “I’m cold.”

“What else is new,” Daichi says without thinking. Suga glares, but its power is halved by his shaking. “Sorry. You really do look miserable. Do you want to go back?”

“I don’t know. We’ve already come most of the way.”

“You look exhausted, though.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us are muscley lumberjacks.”

 _Muscley lumberjacks?_ Suga must be worse off than he thought. Daichi isn’t sure whether to laugh or be insulted, so he asks, “Is this about the flannel shirt?”

“Obviously. Every time you wear it you look like a—commercial for air fresheners. You’re going to stick out in Tokyo like a sore thumb.”

“I thought you said you liked that shirt.”

“I changed my mind.”

Daichi honestly can’t tell whether Suga’s mad at him or if any of this counts as mean or nice or _what’s_ going on in his cold-ridden head.

They reach a part of the forest populated by deciduous trees. It’s too early for the trees to have sprouted leaves, so the cover is minimal, and the clouds start unloading rain so heavy it pushes past the branches overhead.

It becomes apparent, after another hour trudging through the rain—an hour of soaked shoes and sore feet and imminent blisters and mud—that they are lost.

They’re supposed to be following the red squares. They haven’t seen one in ages.

“Suga. The map.”

“Here.”

The map is useless, because they’re in the middle of a forest in the middle of a mountain range and there’s no one around, because everyone smart went home.

“Daichi,” Suga says.

Shit.

“Daichi,” he repeats.

“We’re lost,” Daichi says.

“I could tell.”

“Yeah.”

“This was a bad idea.”

“Sorry. This is my fault.”

“Don’t look so sorry for yourself, Captain. I’m the one who’s sick.”

Daichi studies his shoes for something better to say.

Suga sighs. It turns into a wet cough. “Let’s keep going,” he says, and resumes hiking before Daichi can answer.

Daichi stares at his back. He used to think he understood everything about Suga, but now he keeps messing up, ever since his conversation with Ikejiri. Ever since he became aware of this thing between him and Suga, this _thing_ he’s afraid to give a name.

He used to take pride in the things he knew about Suga. Asahi, too. There are things that only he and the other third years share—understanding formed not only by enduring friendship, but also by the age they were when they all met for the first time. The people they were at fifteen were different. Flimsy, loud, rough around the edges. In some ways those people would be unrecognizable to, say, the first years on the team. It’s embarrassing, but when it comes to Suga and Asahi, knowing these uncomfortable things brings them closer. They all watched each other learn things the hard way. It comes with a built-in compassion.

Daichi and Asahi, for example, are the only ones who can distinguish between Suga’s genuine confidence and when it’s a front. Daichi isn’t a mind-reader, for sure, but he is close enough to Suga to know he gets lost in his own head sometimes.

Like right now.

Daichi wonders if Suga knows they’re still climbing toward the peak, or if he is just so sick and mad that his body’s gone on autopilot. He follows. He lets his arms float out protectively. He knows he will catch Suga whether Suga wants to be caught or not.

It’s not along the marked path, but they reach the top. The rain hangs more than it falls, like mist. They’re at the top of a tremendous mountain now, and they can’t even see anything: they’re shrouded in fog, and Suga, though he is soaked and shivering, looks unreal occupying the space between the particles of a cloud so thick that whatever brilliant landscape Daichi had thought might change their lives isn’t even _there_.

Suga sneezes and leans his face on his knees with a pitiful groan.

“Are you okay?” Daichi asks.                      

Suga looks up and inhales sharply. His bangs are plastered to his forehead. “Sorry. I’ll be fine. It’s just…really, really cold.”

Daichi thinks he could solve this. He could wrap his arms around Suga and hug him until all the cold and sadness and frustration evaporated. But doing that would be…risky, in a way that Daichi doesn’t like to take risks. Not without Suga prodding him first.

“No, I’m sorry,” Daichi says instead. “I’m sorry for dragging you up here. I thought it would cheer you up.”

Suga laughs. It’s only half-bitter. “Yeah, well. It was a nice thought.” He pushes himself to his feet, shoulders trembling. Daichi thinks he looks terribly lonely.

He’s been conceited, he realizes—thinking he could help Suga when maybe the truth is he doesn’t understand the first thing about him.

Maybe Suga has already grown up, without Daichi noticing.

Bu maybe Daichi’s growing up, too. Maybe the tightness in his chest is just that—growing pains.

All they can do now, anyway, is find their way off the mountain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They retrace their steps as best as they can—it’s hard without the trail, and the rain has turned the earth to mud. He walks behind Suga, who moves like he’s pushing through a swimming pool.

“Do you remember that carnival matsuri, last summer?” Daichi asks, just to keep Suga from falling asleep.

Suga hums.

“It was so hot that day. Even when it got dark out. We were sweating through our yukata.”

Another hum.

“And you made me eat all that spicy food. I thought I was going to die, I was so warm.”

“I made you play all those rip-off games, too,” Suga says hoarsely.

“We never ended up with enough tickets to get anything good. Just temporary tattoos.”

“Yours was a hippo. I don’t remember what mine was.”

“A balloon.”

That matsuri wasn’t the biggest Daichi had ever seen, but it was kind of special, with rides and arcade games set up like they have at carnivals. He and Suga faced off in Galaga four times, until a string of blue paper tickets came spilling out of the machine—Suga had plucked one off and held it out to Daichi, had said _Admit one,_ to which Daichi had said _Admit one what?_ and Suga had said _You know what, admit it, admit one Daichi_ and Daichi had said _Okay, I hope we go to school together_ and Suga had turned bright red and run away from him, between the rows of lantern-lit food stalls puffing steam, and Daichi only caught him twenty minutes later, watching the carousel spin round and round—

Daichi is dizzy. His mouth is dry and his focus is shot; he swims in the memory of the matsuri for ages—it must be ages, because the sky darkens to ink. He hopes he isn’t getting sick, too. He presses a hand to his forehead, but the skin is clammy, not feverish.

“Suga,” Daichi says. “We should stop for the night. You need to rest.”

“I want to go home,” Suga protests weakly.

“We can,” Daichi says. “In the morning. Come on, let’s find somewhere dry.”

They don’t, really, but settle for the base of a particularly thick tree, with partial protection from the elements. Daichi is so exhausted even he can push the worry of pneumonia aside in favor of slumping on the ground and not moving for seven or eight hours.

“Do you need anything?” Daichi asks once he’s settled, though the idea of moving his legs again makes him scream inwardly. “An energy bar or something?”

Suga ignores him and wriggles into his sleeping bag, his too-red face poking out from the opening. They’re both freezing. They should huddle for warmth. A year ago Daichi would have, without hesitation. And he would now, he _would_ , if only Suga would give him permission—but Suga doesn’t even know he can ask, and Daichi’s not sure—

“Good night, Daichi,” Suga says.

“Good night, Suga,” Daichi says back, and he feels every inch between them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they wake up, it’s still pouring, and the wet has soaked right through their sleeping bags. Daichi’s skin is saturated with sweat and rain; his fingers and toes are pruny. It’s disgusting.

Suga presses his thumbs to his eyelids and groans. “This is the worst I have ever felt.”

Daichi rummages through one of their bags for the bananas. He passes one to Suga and they eat their breakfast in silence. It must be daylight, since they can see each other, but the storm clouds are so dark he has no idea how much time has passed since they laid down to sleep.

“Daichi,” Suga says. Daichi wishes he didn’t like the way Suga says his name so much—the second syllable sounds so sweet, Dai _chi_. “About yesterday. The—lumberjack thing. And everything else.”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to say anything. Or apologize. You don’t even have anything to apologize for.”

Suga frowns. “I know I don’t _have_ to.”

Then he’s off again, down the mountain face, before Daichi can register his meaning or get a word in edgewise.

Coming of age. Ha ha ha.

They wander down the slope—down is the right direction, at least, though they’re still separated from the path, trampling plants and shrubbery and trying not to trip over the shifting, muddy earth. Daichi catches up to Suga and keeps up a few steps ahead of him, though he checks over his shoulder for him frequently.

Suga’s condition doesn’t improve. His face radiates heat and his legs wobble as he walks. His shoulders look even narrower with his clothes clinging to his skin.

Hours pass this way, and if it wasn’t day before, it is now. The rain comes down so hard when Daichi needs to say something to Suga, he has to scream it. But they’re both hungry and exhausted, not to mention Suga’s fever, and their fight, or whatever it is—so it’s better this way, not talking. They can fix whatever needs fixing between them once they’re off the mountain, back to the real world. Fix them enough so when they leave for Tokyo, they don’t let a twenty-minute train ride drive a stake between them.

The forest thins, and disappears altogether. They’re not perched on the rim of a valley, or passing through the belly of one. The ground drops with such infuriating gentleness that whatever progress they’re making feels nonexistent, and any helpful view of the area is obscured by rocky walls on either side.

They come to a spring.

It’s hot. It has to be; the water steams and hisses in the rain. Though the surface is battered by the storm, it’s clean, and they can see clear through to the pebbled floor. Daichi’s fingers ache with cold, the mental steel in his brain bending and giving way, and he turns to Suga. “Do you want to…?”

Suga doesn’t even let him finish. He plunges in, fully clothed.

“Suga!” Daichi snaps.

Suga spouts a mouthful of water at him. “What?”

“You didn’t test the temperature first, you could have been burned! Plus, your clothes—!”

“They’re already soaked.”

“That’s not the point,” Daichi says, exasperated. He sighs and braces himself on Suga’s shoulder, lowering himself into the spring until only his head is above the water. It feels heavenly, and the steam clears his nose, which is running from the chill.

They float on their backs for a while, arms spread, faces to the rain, hands bumping occasionally. Daichi thinks if they die out here, this would be the nicest place to do it.

“I’m sorry,” Suga says after a while. “I’m really sorry.”

“Just tell me what’s gotten into you lately.”

“I’ve been so mean to you the past few months. You should have stopped putting up with it ages ago.”

“I was trying to be a good friend.”

Suga laughs. He brings his feet to the pebbled bottom of the spring. Daichi follows suit, leaning against the wall. Suga’s laugh turns into a cough, and Daichi rubs his back.

“I know, that’s the problem,” Suga says, when his throat’s cleared. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and Daichi recognizes resolution in his expression. “Just—give me a second—”

Suga dunks his head under the water and screams. The sound is muffled, but escapes in pockets bubbling to the surface. Maybe he’s delirious with fever and hunger, but Daichi thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s seen the whole trip.

“Quit laughing at me,” Suga says when he stands up straight again. Daichi ignores him and reaches out to push the water dripping from his bangs. He takes a step forward, lets himself be sandwiched between Suga’s weight and the wall.

They’re close, suddenly. But maybe it’s not sudden. Daichi knows it isn’t; they’ve been this way— _close_ —for months. Years, maybe, he wonders, as their noses bump. Suga’s fists tighten in his shirt, and even though Daichi wants to run away, Suga must too—he clings to keep himself from running. Then Suga’s lips brush his, and when Daichi doesn’t pull back, he presses them gently together, moving his mouth slowly and carefully as he can. Suga’s skin is smooth, and the same temperature as the spring, and between the kissing and the pressure of hot water on his lungs, Daichi can hardly breathe. His back is on fire. His lungs fill with it. They could die out here. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

He drops his head on Suga’s shoulder, tugs on his elbows. Suga sways as if he might pass out from the heat.

“Daichi,” he says, voice sleepy and barely there.

“Come on,” Daichi says. It comes out embarrassingly husky. “Out. You’re going to get even sicker like this.”

Suga makes a small noise of assent and allows himself to be negotiated out of the spring. Kneeling in the mud, he slumps against Daichi, face in the crook of his neck.

“You’re too nice to me, Daichi,” he says, voice small. “You’re always protecting me.”

Daichi’s brain stalls. “What do you mean?”

But Suga exhales against his neck and a shiver runs down his sides, and Daichi forgets what he asked.

Daichi guides him to a dryish patch of dirt beneath the wall of rock, where he says they can wait out the storm. Suga nods, eyes hazy. He droops against Daichi’s shoulder and is asleep almost instantly, cheeks pink, chest rising and falling with too-quick breaths. Daichi’s face burns watching Suga, but the guilt he felt earlier evaporates with the steam on his skin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rain stops.

The ground is ruined, and there’s the stink of wet grass and mud beneath a newly beating sun.

Suga stirs on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Daichi says softly, next to his ear. Suga makes a small noise. He looks vulnerable, his clothes and hair still damp and wrinkling in the dry air, but the flush has faded from his face, and he’s no longer trembling. Daichi lights a palm on his forehead to make sure the fever’s broken, and Suga nuzzles his hand for a moment. It’s cute.

Suga sits up suddenly and scrambles back. “Daichi! I—” He raises his hands defensively, whipping his head around frantically, as if there would be anyone else around to catch them snuggling up to each other. “I—it’s—the rain’s stopped!”

“Yeah, it has,” Daichi says, laughing.

Suga straightens. “Well. Let’s go.”

Daichi stares, mouth open. Suga stands and stamps his foot, spraying mud across both their legs. “Let’s _go_ ,” he repeats, more emphatically. He does not offer him a hand.

Okay. Daichi’s confused. He was confused before, but he thought they solved that in the water. Now he’s even more confused, even though his stomach feels like it’s filled with some substance lighter than air, and not just because he’s hungry. His shoulder feels bare without Suga’s weight pressed into it.

But at least Suga seems to be feeling better. He stomps further down the unmarked trail, past the shelves of rock, winding his way back into the forest.

The theme of their trip, apparently—not coming of age, but Suga charging ahead of him, offering no explanation.

Daichi spends an excruciating fifteen minutes trailing behind Suga, trying to decide whether to say anything. He prays Suga will say something first—will give Daichi that push he needs, like he always has—but the more time passes without words between them, the more anxious he becomes, and the anxiety eventually wins out.

“Hey, Suga?”

Suga keeps plowing ahead, swinging an impromptu walking stick like a sword.

“Don’t you want to—I don’t know, talk?”

“I want to go home.”

“Oh. Me too.”

Suga turns around so fast Daichi practically knocks into him. “That’s the great thing about being friends with you, Daichi. You don’t actually have it in you to confront me.”

Daichi frowns. He’s not sure that’s fair.

“You let me get away with whatever I want,” Suga continues, slashing at brush and low-hanging branches with his stick. “And you call it _friendship_. Have you ever considered reevaluating all your friendships, Daichi? Because you should, if you think that’s what friends are for.”

“I don’t think that,” Daichi says.

“And even now you won’t get angry at me! Like you let me—be so close to you all the time, no matter what horrible things I say to you. And no matter what I push you into doing, you don’t get mad at me, even when I—when I—”

“Suga.”

“What,” Suga snaps, whipping his head to make eye contact with Daichi for the first time since they kissed. They’re both breathing hard, and they just stand there for a while, staring.

“Stop walking away from me,” Daichi says, at last.

“I’m not.”

“You have been.”

Suga tears his eyes away, studies his shoes. “Whatever.”

They start moving again, down a hill that looks promisingly trampled, though the trees still lack trail markers. Daichi feels himself start to say something, wonders if the statute of limitations on their argument is up, ignores the way his body tenses to stop himself from speaking.

“You think you pushed me into that back there.”

"Back where?"

"In the water."

“I don’t think it,” Suga says petulantly. “I know it.”

“Then you’re not as smart as you think.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. _I-turned-down-Tohoku—_ ”

“God, Daichi, you really don’t know _any_ thing.”

“I know you blame yourself for no reason.”

“When have I ever done that?”

Daichi halts. “Suga.”

“I blame you plenty, too! Even if you don’t deserve it!”

“Suga! _Look_ ,” Daichi says, pointing. Suga follows the line of his arm. His eyes settle on the cluster of carved rocks and widen.

“Child gods,” Suga breathes. Stout, weathered statues with red bibs, donated by bereaved parents, some of which appear to have been changed very recently. There are ten of them, maybe, huddled around a weathered stone altar.

“A shrine, out here?”

“Maybe we’re not as lost as we thought,” Daichi says.

“Or maybe we died and don’t know it yet.”

Suga takes a step forward, then another, then drops to his knees, threads his hands together, lets his head fall. Daichi can’t stand how beautiful he looks surrounded by the green and the dew.

“Suga,” he says.

“Hush.”

“But—”

“Don’t start contradicting me _now_ , Daichi.”

Oh, he realizes. Suga's praying.

Daichi falls silent. The whole forest falls silent; the wind has stilled and the birds are still sleeping off the rainstorm. Suga curls in on himself tighter and tighter, until he is the smallest Daichi’s ever seen him. He looks just like he did on the top of the mountain, Daichi’s heart aches to make him understand.

At last, Suga speaks.

“Tohoku, Daichi. College.” He laughs bitterly. “My parents told me I was too young to understand what I want. And maybe I am, but lately I can’t stand it anymore. There’s something wrong with me, but—I’m sick of keeping everything at bay. Of waiting for things to be different, or to change. So I decided I needed to be far away.”

Daichi kneels next to him, slow, shaky.

“I’ve always told myself  that I’ll understand everything when I’m older. It used to make me feel better. But lately I’m worried what if never know? It’s been three years, Daichi.” He shudders around an exhale. “I’ve been waiting to figure out that I don’t want you. But you’re still here. So what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Daichi says honestly.

Hundreds of moments catch up with him—and here Suga is, right in front of him.

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” Daichi repeats, pronounces the words slowly. “But I want to us to be near each other when we figure it out.”

Suga surges forward on his knees, wrapping himself around Daichi, who half-chokes on his next breath. They don’t look at each other; just hold on tightly, heads bowed, the two of them still in the shadow of the mountain, in the presence of a god.

“I’m scared, Daichi,” Suga whispers. “I’m really, really scared.”

“Yeah, but hey. At least we’re scared together.”

“Mushy,” Suga laughs through his tears. He shakes in his arms, and it would break his heart, if he weren’t shaking just as hard. Daichi senses it more clearly, now: Their lives are about to change. They’re changing right now, evolving much faster than Daichi could have ever imagined, when he said to his best friends a few days before graduation, _Hey, let’s go for a hike._ They are about to be adults, and they cling to each other before the shrine, praying for a new kind of strength.

“How long?” Suga asks.

“I don’t know. It never even occurred to me until—after Interhigh this year. But by then it was already...there. What about you?”

“From the start. I didn’t know right away, either, but—I knew you were important from the start.”

Daichi lets out an uneven breath. “We wasted so much time.”

“It doesn’t matter. We have time. God, Daichi, we have so much time.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they spot a red square nailed to a tree for the first time in twenty-four hours, they cheer like they did for every point at Nationals.

They arrive at the base of the mountain just as the bus back to the train station pulls up. The bus driver pales at the sight of them—sweaty, mud-encrusted, their clothes rumpled from air-drying. But they don’t get turned away, and the bus grumbles and clunks to life as they find their seats.

“We look like we’ve been lost in the wilderness for days,” Daichi mutters under his breath.

“We _have_ been lost in the wilderness for days.”

“Our parents are going to kill us when we get back. And I can’t imagine what your sister’s going to say.”

Suga glances doubtfully at their linked hands. “Daichi, this is _not_ the hardest conversation we are ever going to have with our parents.”

“Ha ha _ha_. Good one.” Daichi slides his hands up Suga’s arm, fingers kneading at the knob of Suga’s elbow. “Hey, I’ve been thinking, by the way. Wanna move to Tokyo with me?”

“We haven’t even been on one date.”

“Was this not a date?”

Suga scoffs. “I prefer my dates not to be life-threatening, believe it or not.”

“Maybe we can catch a movie before we leave, then.”

“I’m still not moving in with you,” Suga says, after a while. “In Tokyo, I mean. We’re doing this right, okay?”

Daichi laughs. As if there is a precedent for _right_ for people like them. But he knows what Suga means.

Suga peeks at the bus driver up front, then ducks below the seat, leaning his head against Daichi’s side.

“We’re going to _Tokyo_ , Daichi. Where they have _gay bars_.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I know you will.”

Later on the bus comes to a halt, and a small group of people get on. Suga straightens, but Daichi grabs at his hand on the seat again after the group passes. Suga reddens, but doesn’t let go.

Daichi grins. Things are about to get so much harder. And weirder.

And better.

**Author's Note:**

> man, i've been working on this for months in bits and pieces, and finally decided it was together enough to publish.
> 
> thank you for reading.
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/laubeary)  
> [tumblr](http://www.pizzawitch.tumblr.com)


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